


You Were Calling

by ohhaypsy



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 05:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17843051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhaypsy/pseuds/ohhaypsy
Summary: It was the only thing that brought Newt back.





	You Were Calling

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, guess I've fallen into this wonderful hell again. Written for an amazingly encouraging friend <3
> 
> Fair warning, I'm rereading the series, but a lot of this was written from memory, so I apologize if the details don't quite match up.
> 
>  **update:** Yup, for sure got a billion things wrong. Fever Code didn't super grab me, so I apparently I forgot a bunch of stuff that contradicted my existing headcanons, and looking it up didn't give me enough. To be honest, I'm beginning to think I didn't even finish it. So my bad, I guess this is AU. Hopefully you'll still like it.
> 
>  **trigger warning:** suicide attempt

He hadn't expected to be conscious. Hell, he hadn't expected to be _alive._

Then again, Newt wasn't entirely sure he was. He felt bruised, achy, and was for sure bleeding, but _pain_ wasn't the exact word to describe it. He was pretty sure he'd blacked out -- he _had_ to have, he didn't remember landing, he didn't remember anything between the fall and lying here on the ground.

No, not the fall. The jump.

Newt groaned, propping himself up on an elbow. The motion jostled his leg and he gasped -- _there_ was the pain, he must still be alive. It stopped once he stilled, and Newt thanked his adrenal glands for the amount of adrenaline they had to be pumping through his system.

He hazarded a look at his leg and _bloody nope, not doing that again._ The short glance at his mangled lower extremity, jutting out at a completely wrong angle, had been more than enough, and he flung his head back with another gasp to look up instead.

Up at the Maze wall that he'd jumped from. Up at the sky that was beginning to darken. The doors would close soon, and he'd be trapped in here, an easy meal for the Grievers.

Well, he hadn't exactly planned on leaving here alive anyway.

He hadn't planned on any of this, honestly. He hadn't run into the Maze today thinking _well, maybe I'll off myself this time._ He hadn't even climbed the ivy with the intent of throwing himself off. He'd just wanted to see. To see that there was _something_ out there, something at the end of it, even if that something was miles away. That the other boys that had died in the Maze had died for _something._ All he'd needed was that small bit of hope.

It took ages, but he'd managed to get to the top of the wall, his muscles burning and aching by the end. And when he had looked, there was _nothing._ Just the Maze, and then the Cliff, and then… _Nothing._

Newt didn't know how long he had sat up there, legs dangling off the edge, names going through his mind. George. Hank. Alfred. Marc. All Runners who'd died in the futile hope that there was some sort of escape.

There wasn't. And there never would be.

He'd felt numb when he'd finally started climbing down the ivy. The only thought in his head had been _why?_ Why was he bothering to go back to the Glade? All he'd learned out here today was that it was all useless. _Hopeless._ That they would be trapped in this hell forever. Why was he bothering to climb down?

So instead, he brought his feet up and pushed himself from the wall. Instead, he let go.

And instead of dying like he _bloody well should have,_ he was lying here, staring up at the distance that should have killed him.

Just his buggin' luck.

Newt fell back, letting his head thump against the ground, ignoring the pain. His leg was finally starting to ache, and he wondered how long it would be before the shock wore off and the pain properly settled in. He wondered how long until the Doors would close; he was close enough where he would be able to hear them. He wondered how long he'd lie here until the Grievers found him. He didn't look at his watch, he just waited for the inevitable.

Newt didn't know how much time had passed when he finally heard something. Not the doors grinding shut for the night, but someone yelling his name.

What were those idiots _doing?_ They weren't supposed to be looking for him, not this late, not this close to nightfall. Even if they did find him, they'd have to drag his sorry arse back to the exit, and there just wasn't enough time. They were going to get themselves killed trying to save him -- from himself. But they kept yelling his name.

No, not they. _He._ There was only one voice yelling for him, and as it got closer, Newt recognized who it belonged to.

 _Alby._ Bloody _Alby_ had broken the rules, had come into the Maze to look for him.

And Newt suddenly realized he didn't want to die. Not now, not here, not like this. Jumping had been one thing -- that was on his terms, his _choice._ He didn't want to die on his back, waiting for the Grievers. He didn't want to die when it meant death for Alby too.

With a groan, he pushed himself to sit up a bit, ignoring the pain that spiked up his leg. "Alby…" His voice was hoarse, weak. He coughed and tried again. "Alby!"

_"NEWT!"_

His voice finally emerged as the scream he'd been aiming for. _"ALBY!"_

It was a terrifying game of Marco Polo until Newt saw Alby round a corner and break into a sprint. He skidded to a stop and immediately dropped to his knees, not hesitating to grab Newt's arm to pull him up.

Newt couldn't stop his scream of pain. "My leg--"

 _"Shuck,"_ Alby hissed, and he seemed to finally notice Newt's mangled leg. His eyes widened in fear -- Newt had never seen Alby scared before. "I can't--"

"It's fine," Newt said quickly, shaking his head. No matter what, his leg was going to be jostled; he'd just have to bear the pain.

Alby nodded and pulled one of Newt's arms around him. "Here, over my shoulders. Newt, what _happened?"_

This time, Newt managed to bite down on his scream as Alby started to pull him up. "I was climbing and I--" The lie stuck in his throat before he could even say the words. He let Alby pull him over his shoulders in a fireman carry, trying to focus on anything other than the pain in his leg. "I jumped, Alby." His voice was quiet, but he knew Alby heard him, judging by the way his muscles tensed even further. His voice choked, in both pain and despair. "I got to the top of the wall, and there's _nothin'_ out there, Alby, bloody _nothin',_ no way out, and I just couldn't--"

 _"Shut. Up."_ The words were a growl and Newt cried out again when Alby stood. "Shut your shuck face and hold onto me."

Newt followed instructions, his fingers clenched in Alby's shirt, focusing on the boy who risked his life to save him instead of the pain that seared his leg as Alby ran.

He was unconscious by the time Alby reached the doors, minutes before they closed.

\--

Alby should have known. He should have seen it coming. Newt had been off for the past few days. Restless, irritable in a way Alby had never seen before, constantly chewing his nails down to the quick. He'd been eating and sleeping only enough to keep up his stamina to run each day. He almost always spent his free time in the Deadheads, either pacing, or sitting while he stared at the graves.

Alby should have known something was wrong. But even if he had, he doubted he would have realized it would be this bad.

The Gladers were still gathered around the Doors when he returned with Newt, only a few minutes before they closed. Nick practically jumped on him, yelling about breaking the rules, but when Alby snarled for Nick to back off, every last one of the boys took a step back.

The Medjacks hustled forward to try and take Newt from him, but Alby didn't let them. He instead hauled Newt up to the Homestead himself, letting Clint and Jeff trail behind.

He'd face his punishment later. For now, nothing would pull him away from Newt's side.

He tried to be as careful as he could, letting the other two help him set Newt down on the cot, but it was still enough to jar him into dazed consciousness, groaning in pain. "Alby…?"

"Slim it, you shank." Alby's voice was soft despite his words. "I-- we got you." He looked back at Clint and Jeff, who looked pale. "What are you waiting for?" Alby snapped at them.

Clint recovered first. "Alby, we've never handled anything this bad before. I don't know how his bones ain't popping out."

"Figure it out. At least set it -- you know how to do that, don't ya?"

The two nodded, and started scrambling for the supplies. Jeff handed Alby a leather strap. "It's gonna hurt."

Alby took it with a nod, then turned back to Newt, whose eyes were drooping. "Hey, stay with me, just a little bit longer." He turned Newt's face towards him, waiting until the other's eyes focused on him. "They're gonna fix you up. Here, bite down." Newt nodded, and let Alby put the strap between his teeth.

"Keep him still." Jeff gave Alby barely enough warning to get his hands on Newt's shoulders before the two Medjacks started pulling the bones back into place.

Newt's eyes bulged and he screamed behind the leather strap. He tried to thrash, but Alby was stronger, keeping him pinned to the bed. "C'mon Newt, focus on me." He tried to keep his voice as calm and steady as he possibly could while watching his best friend in this much pain. He shifted quickly, using his forearms to keep Newt still, freeing his hands to hold Newt's face. "Almost there, Newt, you got this."

Tears were streaming from Newt's eyes as he clenched his teeth down on the strap, but he maintained his focus on Alby. Alby pressed his forehead to Newt's, still keeping eye contact with him. "You got this, Newt, I got you, Clint and Jeff got your leg, it's almost over." He continued to mutter affirmations and reassurances to Newt, even after the other had gotten over the initial shock of the pain and was managing to hold himself still. It didn't seem as though Newt was keen for him to move either, judging by the way he dug his fingers into Alby's shoulders, or the way he pressed his forehead just a little bit harder against Alby's at every spike of pain.

It didn't take long, but watching Newt like that made it feel like ages before Jeff spoke from the foot of the bed. "Okay, worst of it's over, just gotta finish the splint."

Alby stroked his thumbs over Newt's cheeks. "Almost there, Newt."

Newt nodded slightly and closed his eyes -- but didn't loosen his grip.

The next few minutes passed in silence as Jeff and Clint wrapped Newt's leg. Newt's breathing was shaky, but steady at least, and he let Alby take the leather strap back. The teeth marks in it were impressively deep.

"Splint's done," Jeff said. "We gotta check the rest of you over. What happened out there?"

Alby disentangled himself from Newt's grip, gently pushing the other to lay back while he sat up. He grabbed Newt's hand, and pushed down the instinct to lie for him. It was Newt's place to decide what he wanted everyone to know, even if Alby was pretty sure he could guess. It would be weird if he jumped into explain, anyway.

Newt's hand clutched his. "Griever, of course. I managed to climb partway up the wall before it could spot me. Tried to get back down after it had moved on and took a bit of a tumble."

"A bit of a tumble," Jeff laughed, but it was weak. "Least it didn't come back for you. Lemme take a look at--"

"Alby." Clint's voice was soft. Alby looked up and saw him gesture to the door. Nick was standing there, arms folded across his chest, his expression unreadable.

Alby looked back to Newt, who looked up at him with worry. Alby shook his head. "I'll be back," he said quietly, running a hand through Newt's hair.

None of the others said a word. No one ever really talked about it -- at least to Alby -- but he and Newt were hardly a secret. They weren't particularly affectionate in front of the others, but considering, Alby made an exception. He squeezed Newt's hand before going to talk to Nick.

\--

Newt was anxious. Not for himself, but for Alby. Nick had to be furious, and Alby would definitely be punished for running out into the Maze like that. And maybe he was a little bit scared for himself. Alby wasn't the most emotional of people, but he'd probably be pretty angry that Newt had…

Newt trusted Alby to keep the secret that it hadn't been an accident. No one else needed to know.

He kept quiet as Jeff and Clint stripped him and looked him over, only occasionally hissing through clenched teeth when they poked at a tender spot or accidentally jostled his leg. Unsurprisingly, he was pretty banged up -- scrapes, bruises, cuts, a particularly nasty head wound that left his hair matted with blood and required a few stitches -- but amazingly, none of them were all that serious. His leg had obviously taken the brunt of the damage. They told him he probably had a mild concussion, but was cognizant enough to sleep it off. Once they finished cleaning him up and propped his leg up on a mound of pillows, they left.

Newt didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up to the door opening. It was Alby.

"Alby--" he started, shifting to try and sit up a bit. He groaned in pain, which brought Alby immediately over.

"Here," Alby said quietly, carefully moving Newt's leg into a better position. He then moved to the head of the bed, moving the pillows so he could slide himself to sit behind Newt. Newt leaned back, and Alby slid an arm around his bare torso to hold him.

Newt held it tight around him, and closed his eyes when he felt Alby's other hand in his hair. "Alby, I'm so--"

"Slim it," Alby said once again, but there was no bite to it. "We'll talk about it later. Right now, you're gonna sleep."

Newt craned his head to attempt to look back at Alby, but couldn't quite manage. Just as well; Alby had an easier time talking when he didn't have to make eye contact. "What did Nick say?"

Alby turned his face to press it into Newt's hair, despite how dirty it was, careful of the bandage. "Few days in the Slammer, starting tomorrow."

Newt's stomach selfishly twisted. The punishment made sense -- Alby broke the rules. But being laid up like this without Alby was going to be hard. He let himself settle again into Alby's chest. "I'm sorry."

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up with that?" Alby tightened his grip slightly to punctuate his words. "Now go to sleep. We'll talk when you wake up."

Newt nodded, and let himself sink into sleep, Alby's arms still wrapped around him.

\--

Alby didn't sleep that night. He'd have plenty of time to do that in the Slammer. Instead, he carefully explored what parts of Newt he could touch without waking him, noting every new scrape and bruise, every bandage hiding wounds that would end up as scars.

While his hands moved slowly, his mind raced. For hours, one thought just rolled over and over in his head: he'd nearly lost Newt today. If he'd listened to Nick's orders, if he'd stayed in the Glade, he would have been waiting by the Doors all day tomorrow, waiting to see what Minho and the others managed to bring back of Newt.

The images haunted him throughout the night, and he held Newt just a bit tighter.

It wasn't morning yet when Newt started to stir, shifting as consciousness pulled at him. When he moved just a little too far and his leg shifted, he awoke fully with a sharp gasp. "Bloody-- Gonna take awhile to get used to that."

Alby exhaled through his nose. "Well, you got time. Medjacks say you're gonna have to completely stay off of it for at least a month, probably longer."

 _"A month?"_ Newt groaned in response. "You shanks'll have burned the Glade down by then."

"Most likely." Alby shrugged. He helped Newt adjust, sitting up a bit more from the slumped position he'd fallen into while sleeping. Alby settled both of his arms around Newt's waist this time, while Newt's head fell back against his shoulder.

Newt rubbed his hand over Alby's forearm. "What time is it?" he asked quietly.

Alby glanced over at Newt's watch, which was on the nightstand. "A while before wake-up. Still got some time before I gotta leave and meet Nick over at the Slammer."

"...Right. The Slammer." Newt sighed. He continued to slide his fingers along Alby's arm, quiet for now. Alby stayed quiet too -- Newt would talk when he was ready, and there was no point in trying to push him to it. Though he didn't seem it, Newt was one of the most stubborn slintheads in the Glade. He made decisions carefully, waiting until he had all the information first. But once he had an idea solid in his head, there was no shaking him from it.

Which made all of this worry Alby even more.

"I suppose you want me to tell you why I did it," Newt finally said.

Alby did. But he shrugged. "If you're ready to. You already said some when I found you out there, but I'll listen to more now that we ain't gotta worry about Grievers comin' up on us."

That must have touched a nerve, because Newt tensed in his arms before pulling away, leaning forward to hunch over as much as he could without moving his leg. Alby watched his back arch, his eyes drifting over a particularly angry red abrasion on Newt's left shoulder blade.

"Like I said," Newt started, voice tense. "Climbed up on that bloody stupid wall, all the way to the top. Took the better part of the day, but I made it up there. Looked out over the whole section, all the way to the Cliff." His voice cracked and his shoulders slumped. "And there's _nothin'_ out there, Alby."

Alby reached out to touch Newt's back, ignoring the way the other tensed under his fingers. He slid his hand up Newt's spine, letting it settle on the back of his neck. He didn't say anything, didn't prompt Newt to keep talking -- he would when he was ready.

Newt just breathed, letting his head hang while Alby massaged the back of his neck for a few minutes before he started talking again. "I looked out there and just couldn't stop _thinkin'._ We've been here for more than a year and we're no closer to solvin' the Maze than when we started. There's no way out, Alby. Someone put us here and is just sittin' back, havin' a laugh while we work and try and _die,_ the Grievers just pickin' us off while we Run that bloody Maze, hopin' that just the right turn will take us to some magic door but there _isn't_ one."

Newt's words had turned into sobs, and Alby moved to hold the other against him as best he could. Newt wouldn't lean back, so Alby settled for wrapping his arms around Newt's shoulders and pressing his face into the back of Newt's neck, kissing it softly. Alby was terrible with words, they both knew it, so he tried to comfort in the only way he could think of -- just doing his best to hold Newt through this emotional turmoil.

Shoulders shaking in a failed effort to control himself, Newt continued. "I won't say I didn't mean to, because I did. But I didn't think about it, which is probably why I shucked it all up. I was climbin' down and it just… None of it mattered. We're not gettin' out of the Maze, so why bother Runnin' it? Why bother even goin' back to the Glade if we're all just hangin' about, waitin' to die? Why not just cut to the chase, get it all over with, quick and easy?" Newt pulled away from Alby's arms again, but this time it was to turn as much as he could to look at him. Newt's wet eyes were cold and hard, and a shiver ran down Alby's spine at the complete and utter _defeat_ in them. "So I jumped. Thought I was high enough up still, but apparently not, and now instead of _dead,_ I'll just be a cripple, a bloody _useless--"_

 _"Newt."_ Alby's voice was sharper than he meant for it to be, but it served its purpose, putting a stop to Newt's spiraling. He moved, sitting in front of Newt this time, taking his hands. "Your leg's gonna heal just fine, you'll be back up on your feet and running again before you--"

 _"No!"_ Newt nearly shouted as he pulled his hands away, fear in his expression like Alby had never seen before. "I am _never_ going back into that bloody Maze, Alby, not _ever_ again!"

"Okay, Newt, okay," Alby quickly said, his hands finding Newt's face in an attempt to calm him down. It had been a poor choice of words; Alby had meant running, not _Running._ "No one's gonna make you, I promise, all right?"

Newt was crying again, his hands clutching Alby's wrists as he nodded, eyes closed. Alby wished he was better with words, wished he could say something to make Newt feel better. But that was Newt's wheelhouse, not his. He took solace in the fact that Newt responded so positively to touch, and did what he could with that.

Even so, he had to ask. "If you wanted to…" Shuck, he couldn't even say it. "Why'd you call back to me?"

Eyes still closed, Newt turned to press his face into Alby's hand. "Because you were callin'. Because you would've gotten yourself trapped out there lookin' for me, ya stupid bloody shank."

Alby didn't know what to say. Newt had been just as scared for him as he'd been for Newt. Newt had been willing to live, as long as it meant Alby would stay alive too.

He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He gently pushed Newt to lay back down, this time grabbing pillows for him to rest his head on. Alby laid next to him on his side, and Newt turned his face to press his forehead to Alby's. Alby wanted to curl around him, gather Newt up and just _hold_ the other tightly against him, but with Newt's leg it was impossible, so he settled for this.

They still had time. Alby would stay with him as long as he could.

"Newt," he said quietly. "You gonna try to do it again?"

Newt's eyes closed and he didn't speak for a long time. Alby was beginning to wonder if he had fallen back asleep, until he finally spoke, so soft that Alby would have missed it if their faces weren't so close.

"I don't know."

Alby wanted to beg him not to. Wanted to tell Newt how important he was, how much he was _needed._ By the Glade, by the other boys, but more than anything, by Alby himself.

But Alby didn't. "You're messed up, shank," was all he managed to whisper. He then pressed his lips to Newt's in a soft kiss, and let him sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I broke my leg a few months back, so this was fun to write. Two hours without morphine -- shock and adrenaline's a hell of a thing. Pro-tip: if you break something, try not to look at it. *finger guns*
> 
> Thanks for reading my nonsense.


End file.
